


Right Turn

by noblydonedonnanoble



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-03 01:36:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblydonedonnanoble/pseuds/noblydonedonnanoble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s getting married tomorrow. He’s getting married tomorrow, and there’s nothing you can really do about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Turn

He’s getting married tomorrow. He’s getting married tomorrow, and there’s nothing you can really do about it. You put so much effort into keeping yourself believing that you were just friends, that it took an engagement, a child, an approaching wedding to fully convince you that maybe, just maybe, you had some feelings you’d been pushing away for a long time.

A text from him startles you from your brooding stupor. Bored. Mind if I come to your room?

You should mind. You know very well that him coming to your hotel room the night before his wedding to another woman is stepping into very, very shaky territory, even considering the fact that he is a complete gentleman who has no ulterior motives.

Of course, though, you don’t mind. Why should you? You tell him this, respond that he’s completely welcome to come by your room.

His room is two floors below yours, and he takes his time getting there. You don’t mind, because you use this opportunity to turn on the television and find something worth watching so that you can just sit with him and stare at a screen instead of making conversation. You’re not in a good position for chatting tonight, of all nights. Besides, the two of you can just enjoy yourselves by watching television. Being around him makes you a happier person, even disregarding the way he provokes your mind more than anyone else you’ve ever met.

And then he’s knocking on your door and you stand up to open it and he’s leaning against the frame, grinning at you in that cheeky, beautiful way that you’re far too familiar with.

“Hullo.” His smile is enough to make you start beaming too.

“Hey. Do you mind if we just sit together? I was just watching television.”

In response, he steps over the threshold and allows you to close the door behind him. “Sounds good. That’s really what I need right now, anyway, just to sit with someone.”

So that’s what you do. The two of you perch on your bed, staring at your television, laughing and sighing at the appropriate moments. You’re only too aware of the way you’re leaning into each other and sitting a bit closer than you might with even your closest friends.

But then you start thinking about how she’s going to have this with him for the rest of her life, these nice moments just sitting together all cuddled up and laughing and suddenly it’s the last thing you need. You turn off the television and he looks at you, puzzled. “I just got bored with it, I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “Okay.”

“You’re getting married tomorrow,” you say after a slight pause.

“So I’ve been told.” He chuckles. “We’ve essentially been living like we’re married anyway, so it’s not really going to be different.”

He’s clearly comfortable with the silence that falls, but your mind is running a mile a minute as you think about everything that is going to be different. It’s not even, necessarily, that your true interactions will change—he’ll probably still call you up when some show one of you guest starred in is airing so that you can watch it together, and randomly invite you out for dinner or suggest he come over with some take-out. You’ll still laugh and sigh at all the right moments during television shows and be able to sit without exchanging any words. Maybe all of that will stay the same. But the vibe in the room will forever be changed. If you lean your head on his shoulder when you get sleepy, it will be different. If you hold his hand or grip his arm during the scary part of a movie, it will be different. If you jokingly run your hand through his hair when you’re talking about how absurdly out there it is, it will be different. When you say goodbye to him on these nights, if you hug him and peck him on the cheek it will be so very different.

With this in mind, you loosely lace your fingers through his and rest your head on his shoulder. You look up to see him smiling at you. “Could you maybe just talk at me for a while?”

He does. He talks about Olive, and how he never really believed that parenting came as second nature until he was a parent himself. He talks about Doctor Who, and how he still kind of misses that fantastic jacket and that excuse to let his hair do whatever it wanted every day. This leads him off on a long tangent regarding the show. Slowly, you lose track of what he’s actually saying, instead just listening to his voice and trying to memorize the feel of this, his hand in yours and your head on his shoulder and just being so comfortable together.

You’re dozing off a little bit, and you know he probably thinks that you’re asleep, but he’s still talking anyway.

“Catherine?” You don’t respond, because you feel like even a single word would disrupt the entire moment. You figure that he’ll simply work his way away from you and bid you farewell, but he stays sitting. You’re far too aware of the way he pulls his fingers away from yours and begins tracing random shapes across your palm.

“I love being friends with you, Catherine. I don’t know if I tell you that enough.” He says this quietly, and you’re certain now that he thinks you’re asleep because he’s only speaking for himself. “I don’t think I have anybody else who I could have called up the night before my wedding just so we could sit and do nothing together. I don’t know if there’s anybody else I’m comfortable enough with to do that…”

He stops moving his fingers, and threads them between yours again. His grasp, though, is much tighter and more sure than yours was. “Do you ever think about the wrap party we had after you were done shooting?”

Oh. The answer, of course, is yes. You hope that your face isn’t turning red, because you can feel your cheeks heating up just at the thought of it.

“That night, we both got absolutely pissed. You were the first person in years to see me that drunk.” You smile a bit at that; that was the night he jumped up on the table and sang along to one of Billie’s songs when it came on the radio. Sometimes, on nights like this one, you bring it up and he still claims that he doesn’t listen to Billie’s music and has no idea how he knew those lyrics. “But that night…”

You want him to stop. You’re scared to hear him go on because you already know what’s coming—you were there. But you don’t nudge him, you don’t speak.

“We shared a cab from the bar.”

Stop stop stop stop stop your brain is screaming but you’re not doing anything about it. You’re frozen, curled up on your bed with a man you love who just so happens to be getting married to another woman in the morning.

“You kissed me. I kissed you back.” His voice is practically inaudible and you wonder how hard he had to work to even get them out of his head. “And the next morning, you didn’t remember.”

That’s not true. Inside, you’re screaming. You did remember. You do remember. It’s absurd how much that night crosses your mind.

“I almost asked you to dinner when we talked on the phone. But you were so casual, so indifferent, I didn’t bother.”

Every curse word imaginable is flying through your head at the speed of light and you don’t even know if they’re aimed at him or you or Georgia or the universe or God or that cabbie for interrupting you two that night years ago.

“It doesn’t matter, now. You’re my best friend. Maybe that’s what we were supposed to be anyway.” He rests his head on yours. “I still wonder sometimes, though.”

You’re now wondering a thousand things. You’re wondering why he never brought it up and why he thought you were being indifferent and why he’s thinking about this the night before his wedding and why he’s in your room talking to you about it.

He squeezes your hand and you snuggle in closer to his shoulder because God knows when you’ll feel comfortable enough to ever do this again.

A few minutes pass in silence, and neither of you move a muscle; it seems like you’re equally afraid, now, of ruining the moment. Even if you were willing to speak, you’re not sure that it would be possible. Your mind is still running a mile a minute.

Both of you are dozing when his phone vibrates. You take this opportunity to stir.  
“My alarm,” he says. “It means time to go to sleep. Unless I want to be a complete asshole at my own wedding due to lack of sleep.”

“We wouldn’t want that.” Your smile is so convincing that even you almost believe it.  
He hoists himself off the bed, then pulls you up with him. Before you can ask why, he’s hugging you tightly. “Love you Catherine.” This statement, in and of itself, it not bizarre—you’ve heard him say it countless times. It’s simply what he just said that’s making you think too hard about how to respond.

“I know.” Not the right thing to say, but the first words that come out of your mouth.

You walk with him to the door, and as you hold it open with him standing in the hall, you look him up and down carefully. “Your life’s about to change a lot.” Forget his life—your life is the one you’re terrified about. What he said earlier is true… he was essentially married already.

“And you’ll be with me every step of the way.”

Of course. Yes. He’s got no idea. “Always.”

“Good night, Catherine.”

There are countless things you could say. The words that come out of your mouth might be the ones you want to say the least. “Goodbye, David.”

When you close the door, you slide down with your back against it and allow yourself to be honest, even if it’s with an empty room. “I wish I wasn’t so in love with you.”


End file.
